Queen of the Savages
by x XRoweenaJAugustineX x
Summary: REVISED! The battle in the 7 kingdoms has settled down, and now the North and South are locked in an uneasy peace...but as a fierce threat blooms in the east, will all they built crumble down? Robb Stark/OC. I don't own anything! Book 2
1. Prologue::: In the East

Okay...I'm back and I'm so ashaimed I left THAT up for all to read... *slow sad headshake*. I was climbing walls editing and revising and so, I deleted the other story, and this is...now here. Same story, better written. R&R

Prologue::: **In the East**

The hot red sun hung in the sky, looming over the dry desert, the sea of grasslands, the cities and the villages. The silks and velvets he wore were soiled from long weeks of riding, his legs were numb from aches and his face was sunburnt. His horse was close to death from their journey, its ribs showing clearly under its skin. His traveling party had long since abandoned him and his food and most of his water had gone with them. But here, it was cool, still and silent. Unnaturally so.

They thought Illyrio mad for choosing to come here, out so far from any town or waterhole. Perhaps he had slipped into the abyss of madness, if only just a little. Anyone who came here for _this_ purpose would have to be half crazed or desperate.

_Their_ cave was dark, deep and some said shrouded with death and demons from their dark deeds. His horse refused to come any closer than the top of the hill that descended into the cave. It was a steep slope, but also a short one.

Illyrio's feet slid on the round jagged stones beneath his feet and he very nearly dropped his linen wrapped bundle a few times. It was heavy, one end heavy than the other and his plump arms were tired by the time his feet settled on the flat stone floor inside the cave.

There was something in the air that made his flesh crawl, something that sent an unpleasant shiver up his back. The only light came from the half caved in entrance behind him. Suddenly he wished he were back in his house, back in Pentos with a comely whore warming his bed and sweet summer wine in his belly. He wished for the soft silks that lined his bed and the spiced meats and butter soaked vegetables and soft breads that used to be laid before him in the evening. He longed for the comforts that used to be his, before the _Dragon Queen_ destroyed it all.

He found himself facing the light, as if he unknowingly made his choice to abandon his mission. _No_, someone whispered. _No..._

A puff of air, so sudden it made him jump and drop his bundle, beat against his back gently, from behind him in the cave. The linen made no sound as it hit the stone floor, but the bones inside made a sound so loud he was sure his horse (if it wasn't dead yet) had bolted away from the hill. The skull rolled out after the long thin bones had scattered, the gold seared to the crown made a guttural scrape against the rock it rolled against.

He expected horrors beyond imagination, a hideous hag or a monster from a nightmare. His eyes bulged at the feast before him. A long table, filled with roasted pigs, turkeys, a hefty leg of lamb with warm juices pooling in the plate, ale, wine, beer, boiled potatoes with spices, warm breads, sweet soups...it was all before him, lighted by some unseen torch.

Illyrio did not think; he ran to the banquet and tore into a turkey leg while the hot juices ran down his chin and tangled into his matted beard, his fears melting away as the tender meat slid down his throat.

The half eaten turkey leg had long been discarded for the lamb leg when a hallow _tap_ made him snap his body around.

It was a woman; she was too thin and willowy to be anything but. Her body was crouched down and in her hands was the golden skull. Her body was in the shadows, under the glare of the light from the entrance so he was unable to see anymore of her.

Too stunned to utter a word, he watched her, the food turning to ash in his mouth.

She stood after a few moments, and she was skinnier than he could have thought. Her skin hung over her bones, her vest and trousers must have been leather once, but it was so tattered, so shrivelled, it could be mistaken for seamless rags. She had little hair, only a handful of long strands hanging from her head. She turned to face him, still covered in darkness.

"Gold does not pay for life, old man." she rasped. The golden skull fell to her side with a loud _clunk_. "Eat, love, enjoy this bounty. The body is so much sweeter when it's happy. Anguish bitters the meat." her voice was raspy, rough and low. If he only heard her voice, it would have been hard to tell if she were man or woman.

Sometime before, he had swallowed the mouthful of lamb. "I-I-I d-do not u-understand."

"You want to pay for life," it whispered walking forward with soundless steps. "But we have no use for gold. Only life." She stopped in front of him, towering over him by a foot. She stunk of dead bodies, and the skin expanding over her breasts and neck was leathery looking, grey.

"Please... it's not m-my life, I bargain for...it's my k-kings." Illyrio whispered. He wanted to move, to run, but his feet remained planted.

"Such a devoted servant," a deeper voice hissed to his left. Another woman slithered toward them, but she was balkier than the other and when she drew closer he saw why. She was shielded with a bronze breastplate, forearm and shin guards and a helmet circled her head. The leather shirt and breeches under her armour had long since aged away and it was plain that her skin was like the other woman's. Illyrio's stomach clenched and his bowels turned to water.

"Devotion casts a bold taste. Too bold." a third voice rumbled. It was this voice that scared him most; the way is boomed louder than the others', the way it held such rage and hatred. The third woman was suddenly at his side before he could look to where she came. She was the smallest. She was the thinnest.

The third woman came just under his chin, and he wished that she was as tall as the others, so that he did not have to look upon her. Her face was half a skull, half a rotting corpse. The left half was bone, scratched and broken in some areas. At first he thought her eye socket was empty, that was before a worm slithered from it before falling to the floor. The right side was uglier still, rotting flesh still clinging to the bone of her skull and jaw somehow. The flesh of her cheek was gone, eaten away by some insect, and her rotted teeth showed through. Her right eye was still there, bulging from the socket, black as night. The flesh of her head still grew hair, dark and thin like the other two. He stared at her a second, before he turned away retching up the meat and wine he had consumed.

"You want to pay for the life of a king..." the armoured creature hissed.

"His life will cost you." the first one rasped.

Illyrio coughed and did not lift his head. "Yes—" _cough_ "so—" _cough_ "so be it."

An echoing growl pierced the air, and only after a moment Illyrio realized they were laughing.

"Life has been bought. Let the king have life." the rumbling voice of the third monster announced.

They were upon him before Illyrio could take back the pledge. Sharp teeth ripped into his body, blood spurting from the wounds. He screamed loudly, but the creatures ignored him, tearing at him, _eating_ him.

As Illyrio screamed, the bones he dropped began to tremble and pulled together once again. When Illyrio's screams fell silent, a gasp emitted from the entrance of the cave, where bones once littered.


	2. Winterfell

I swear by all the Gods I know, I own nothing. Ah, I wish I could take credit for the complex and intricate story George RR Martin has created, BUT I CAN'T!

Chapter 1::: **Winterfell**

**7 years after Eddard Stark's execution**

The Great Hall at Winterfell seemed to grow colder when the doors opened. Robb could see Adriena stiffen from the corner of his eye. His wife was not pleased that they had to see Walder Frey once again and neither was he, but there was no choice in the matter. Walder Frey had a right to a trial.

The man in question hobbled in, cane in hand and a disdainful scowl on his weathered face. What few knights that were still loyal to him were gathered around him in a protective barrier, swords at the ready. When he stood before the dais where the King and Queen sat on their stone thrones, he called out, "I fail to see why _I'm_ the one on trial."

"Lord Frey, you are accused of carrying out an attack on the people of Hoff and attempting to murder your Queen's family." Robb bit out tensely. The cruel and sudden attack on Adriena's home wounded Robb some, but wounded Adriena more. Much more. One of her sister's boys had been slain; another sister's husband had been gravely wounded and was close to death and countless others had been murdered, robbed and raped with their homes burned and their forest half destroyed.

As he spoke out the indictment, over a hundred Hoff villagers marched their way to Winterfell, to receive refuge. Others went to the closer villages just outside their forest, but as Adriena's noble family marched to Winterfell, many of their friends marched with them. Some stayed behind, to rebuild, but where their homes once stood was too burned to restore their village to its former glory, not for at least a few more years.

Lord Frey's expression formed into an even more hateful one before he sneered out, "I see no queen here! Only a _savage whore!_"

"Silence!" Robb shouted, lurching to his feet. In the war with the Lannister's Lord Frey had insulted Robb Stark's bride's honour many times but never in Robb's presence. Robb had an army; Walder Frey had a few hundred knights, most of them in Robb's army. Robb had gone to the Twins too quick for Lord Frey to change that. In the face of death and dishonour, he was forced to bend his knee to the man who'd broken the oath he swore, leaving a wound that festered with each passing year. Each year he watched Robb Stark's _peasant_ wife big with child, each time he was called to feast with them for some bloody thing, each time there were words carried by the wind, each time his own sons and grandsons scolded him for mocking their king and his wife, it cut the knife deeper into his pride, no matter how much prosperity the Young Wolf had rained down on him and his.

As Robb's loud and angry shout bounced off the cold stone walls, Walder Frey's men jumped and drew in closer to the old man and darted their eyes around nervously. Many of their eyes settled first on Hallis Mollen, captain of Robb's personal guard, and then they settled on Ser Symon Oakwood, the Queen's fierce sworn shield. He was a big man, thick as a tree, with straw coloured hair and a greying beard. His eye was black and watched strangers closely.

When Adriena and Robb first married, many Houses, great and small, took offence, calling her "_Queen Savage_", "_Peasant Queen_", "_Wildling whore_" and many other cruel names in between. After a hired knife snuck into the camp and tried to open Adriena from gullet to groin, Robb thought it wiser for his wife to have protection when he was off to battle. Symon Oakwood, a friend of Adriena's brother, swore on his life that no harm would come to the Northern Queen so long as he lived and breathed. He failed once and now he sported an empty eye socket to show for it.

"Lord Frey," Robb called hotly. "Do you deny these allegations or no?" Adriena stood up to hear his answer.

"I don't dent it! _My retaliation was just!"_ Lord Frey cried.

"You confess to these treasonous crimes?" Robb cocked an eye brow, genuinely surprised. The Frey's were not renowned for their gall and bravery. _Maybe_, Robb thought, _he drunk a few flagons of wine in his wheelhouse. _

"You are no king of mine." Lord Frey spat out. "So I've committed no treason. A man who breaks a solemn oath to bed a _savage whore_ is no king of mine!" Soft grunts of agreement came softly from Lord Frey's knights, though they were wise not to speak aloud. But regarding them, knights marching against Robb and protecting a man that insulted their sovereigns so profusely _in_ _their_ _own_ castle, was like naming a green boy a knight.

The rest of the attendance in the hall, a dozen sworn knights along the walls, a visiting lord from the Barrowlands, his son and the captain of their guard, Bran Stark and finally Maester Kellor, were all shocked into silence before outraged chatter broke among them. No one with the wit of a dog would bite the hand that fed them so kindly and then piss on their honourable keep.

At Robb's side, Grey Wind growled low in his throat at the men.

Robb's jaw clenched but he was too disciplined to insult Frey back like a child. But Adriena was at her wits end.

"You _swore_ your loyalty to him, he remained true to your term of wedding Arya to one of your sons and your grand daughter was married to the heir to Riverrun. You dare insult us after so much blood binds us?" Adriena snapped in her coldest most hateful voice. Her mind was engulfed then, with images of her sister Kimya wailing over the loss of her baby son, then of her younger sister Mary at her husband's side, her belly still small from the child he'd planted within her and then lastly of her village, the wounded and dying laying burned or sliced on the ashes of the forest floor. Adriena's heart ached but also filled with rage and hatred at the one who caused her people so much pain. She would kill him herself if she could.

"That woman is only a granddaughter! I have plenty! And I answer to no wildling Queen nor a _craven_ King." Walder Frey spat. Robb and Adriena seethed silently a moment, before Robb past his judgement.

"Walder Frey, Lord of the Twins, in the sight of gods and men, I find you guilty of numerous murders and high treason. In my name, I sentence you to die—" an angry growling broke out from the knights around Walder Frey. "—and all those who assisted you in this grievous and vile crime are stripped of their land and titles, and are to serve out the remainder of their days on the Wall, to take the black and renounce claims to the Kingdom of the North." by the end, a chorus of outraged voices came from the men around Lord Frey. _Really_, Adriena thought, _what did they expect?_

"Oath breaker dog!" and "Deceitful wolf!" and other jabs were called out as the knights and Walder Frey were forcibly dragged from the room and down to the dungeons. They had been stripped of their swords when they tried to put up a fuss, when they saw the unfair difference in their numbers, they grudgingly relinquished their weapons.

When they were gone, Robb whispered to Maester Kellor, "I want ravens sent to the Twins. I want to know why no one warned us."

"It will be done." the Maester replied, bowing as deep as his age would permit before leaving the Hall.

As he left, Bran was half dragged by Hodor, Hallis Mollen took Robb's leave and the Lord Qothaine and his son awkwardly bowed their leave and rushed from the room with their guard. This left only the king and queen with a few of their knights.

"I suppose Annie's betrothal to one of Lord Walder's grandsons is called off." Adriena said quietly as she looked to the back of her husband's head. Robb offered a curt nod before walking off, most likely to visit the godswood. She hoped that Anika's fall-through betrothal gave him some comfort. Gods know he was not too happy to consider marrying Anika off to the descendent of a man as fickle as Walder Frey.

Gathering her skirts, Adriena left the Great Hall without a word.

Sitting in the godswood, under the eyes of the heart tree, Robb Stark allowed the silence to calm his thoughts. The sun shone through the blood red leaves and onto the pond and a soft breeze carried fallen leaves over the forest floor. It was silent here.

Tomorrow Walder Frey would die...for attacking his wife's people. It had been years since he'd broken that bloody betrothal, years since House Frey swore fealty to him. Robb wanted to know _why_, but the stress the weight of his crown put him under made him too tired to really think.

When Adriena reminded him that Annie's betrothal now did not need to come about, he felt a bit better, but then he remembered the other Houses that would be both calling in outrage at Walder Frey's execution and clamouring for his daughter's hand. Annie was three and already had men falling over their feet for her. The thought filled him with a bitter feeling that would not go away completely.

Many times Maester Luwin and now Maester Kellor had told him in whispers that there were some houses, a handful maybe, the oldest ones that were held with high regard, took his marriage to Adriena as an insult. She had not been known as any Lord's daughter or even a wealthy merchant's daughter. Instead, she was a village's chief's daughter, high ranking but not high enough for the Houses of the realm.

In the final months of the war, Adriena proved her worth to the Lords of the North. Now, nearing the fifth year of relative peace in the realm of Westeros, only a handful of Houses still looked to Adriena as an outsider, as a bug that attracted more bugs.

However, accepting or no, every House loyal to the Starks had taken Adriena for their Queen. They bent their knee to her same as him, they toasted her name when she gave Robb his son; they called her _"Queen"_. But deep down, Robb feared that this was not enough, that there were more lords like Walder Frey, ones that waited until the right moment to strike.

Up in her chambers, Queen Adriena stood hunched over the half empty water basin on her bedside table, spitting up the last remains of her breakfast. Leaning back, sweat on her brow, tears in her eyes and panting, she went to sit on her large bed.

Suddenly, she froze. It was thirteen days after the last full moon...her blood was late. What if—what if...

Her thoughts raced as she stared at her skirt clothed thighs, unseeing. Her thoughts drifted to years ago, when Ed was two, when found she was with her second child. Another baby...her heart had swelled with happiness and love for the tiny thing inside her, even though her belly was small yet and she would never have known it was there but for the absence of her moon's blood. Old Helsa's voice was so far off; her withered old voice meant nothing to Adriena now. Then, three months later, as she sat by the fire reading, a sharp quick pain went through her, and she felt wetness between her legs. It was blood.

She wept for that baby, she wept for the child she'd never hold, the one she'd never name or kiss or hug to her. Robb held her all that night, and once her tears stopped rolling from her eyes she went to sleep against his chest.

Slowly, though it made her feel wrong, that baby's memory began to slip from her, the grief and the fear...almost as if it never had been. But the loss still scarred her heart and for a long time she feared another pregnancy. When Annie grew within her, every ache made her clutch Robb's hand for comfort.

Faced with the possibility of another baby, happiness and a hint of fear settled in her chest. If Robb's seed quickened in her womb and another babe grew inside her, she would love them from the moment she really knew..._really knew._ If she lost it...her heart would break with Robb's all over again.

Old Helsa always said, "_Girl_, it's bad luck _girl_ to talk about a babe if you can't see the mum's belly!" even as a grown woman, and a mother, the old crone's accuracy still irked her as well as frightened her.


	3. King's Landing

Here we go! We now meet Dany. Let me know what you think, cause I don't wanna feel like an ass.

Oh hey guess what! I OWN NOTHING! cool huh! lol

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><p><span>Chapter 2::: <span>**King's Landing**

Daenerys, Queen of the South, last of the Targaryen's, mother of the Dragons and protector of the southern kingdoms, stood on her bedroom balcony, looking out on King's Landing. The crescent moon illuminated the dark city streets below, torches lighting the way for any wanderers that had slipped from their beds for some unknown reason. The stone was cool beneath her fingers, and the wind chilled her through her thin night dress.

She could feel the wetness between her thighs, the stuff her husband had left there. He wanted a child from her and Dany could not risk telling him that that would never be. Better to let him mull over his fears and worries and slowly learn the truth than hear it all in one bitter sentence and do the unthinkable. Her hold on the throne was already a fragile fledgling bird. The failure to provide an heir would destroy what she'd sacrificed for. So, instead she left the bed as soon as their tumble was over and walked out to the balcony, watching the starts and feeling the cold northern wind on her skin as he dressed and left the chamber.

That was probably the most off-putting thing about King's Landing: the cold. When she was a child, Viserys told her it would be warm here, but it wasn't. It was colder than in Pentos, across the Narrow Sea and sometimes she thought of taking her fastest ship and visiting there for a time. Idle daydreams. At all times, there was a fire burning in her chambers, in the throne room, in the council's solar and in the deepest part of the dungeons for when her dragons sought sleep. That way they didn't have to burn any passersby or smoke out the castle.

Dany hated the cold. Hated it. Lord Varys, the spider that Jorah had convinced her was too useful to destroy, had told her that it had not always been cold in King's Landing. He said that the days of winter were not yet over. _Damn him_, she thought after he told her this, _damn him and his false friendship and smirking grin._

She wondered then, how fierce the cold in the north must be. One day she will finally reclaim it as hers, and all three of her dragons would light the fields and provide warmth. Surely the common folk would prefer the warmth of a blazing fire to the crops that had probably been long dead.

The north had not yielded to her as she had hoped. She took Dorne, she stole Highgarden, she plundered Casterly Rock, but when she tried to take Riverrun, Robb Stark and his host stood in her way. Dany had to admit, his host was impressive. Thousands of foot soldiers, hundreds of mounted knights, squires and archers...she would not kill them when they could be added to her host. The dothraki horde on her back numbered into eight thousand and the able bodied men that fallowed her from Dorne and Highgarden were too few to make much of a difference. With Robb Stark's army, she would have the army a queen deserved.

Like the other kingdoms she had sacked, she gave the Young Wolf, as the common folk called him, a chance to swear himself to her, promising to let him keep his claim to Winterfell and make him a Lord as his father before him. But...he _refused_! What a fool, she'd thought.

Although his face, like the others', paled at the sight of the screeching dragons, he refused to bend his knee, even when Drogon lost his temper and blew his fiery breath to the trees. He refused even when his common looking wife pleaded with him to listen to her.

_Stupid slut!_ a long dead voice screeched at her. _Next you'll be on your back and spreading your legs to the Usurper's dog and his wolf!_

A roar overhead took her away from that memory. He was dead...his bones were dust by now. The thought gave her no satisfaction.

With grace and stealth that made Dany's heart soar with pride, Viserion landed on the stone rail of the veranda, his sharp talons trailing long, deep gashes across the stone. Her anger must have called to him. Viserion was the smallest of her three dragons, about the size of a horse while his brothers grew into large houses. But dragon's never stopped growing. When he was big enough to defend himself against hunters or knights with long swords and bows, Dany would take the north from Robb Stark and give him mercy despite him impudence.

Viserion tilted his long neck toward her, his molten gold eyes never leaving hers. It was a little ironic that Viserys was crowned with gold, while the dragon she'd named for him in his honour looked to have gold embedded within his scales.

She stroked his long neck tenderly as he hissed and growled contently. His leathery wings folded back and steam smoked from his nostrils. As she let the fiery heat at the centre of his neck warm her cold fingers, she looked down again at her kingdom.

This was not how she'd hoped it would be.

People, old or young, common or noble, hated her or feared her or respected her for only her birth right...only her dragons loved her...

Sighing, and letting go of her anger and sadness for the night, Dany let go of Viserion and turned to walk back into her bed chamber. Her husband would be gone, he never stayed and she preferred it that way. There was little love and tenderness between them and it would prove most awkward if he stayed.

Her bed was next to the roaring fire and when she curled up to sleep, her body faced the flames. Viserion curled up on the bear fur blanket a few moments later, the fire making his scales shine beautifully. She would never have a child, but her dragons filled the gaping hole inside her and replaced her despair with something that made her feel almost content. But a queen would never and _should_ never sit easy.

Dany smiled lovingly at Viserion as he purred in his sleep. Just like when he was a baby...

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><p>921/11


	4. Pyke

If you'd like to read more, know this, **REVIEWS keep my fingers typing**

Okay,this was supposed to be a Winterfell chapter, but I simply could not write such a long chapter as that. And this gives a little insight of what'll happen later.

Hope you enjoy this chapter

we all know who owns this and it's not me. **My** **plot is mine** and so is Andrew and Adriena. **_I own nothing else. _**

**_A/N: I know Andrew isn't really a westerosi type name, so I've changed it from Andrew to Taran_**

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><p><span>Chapter 3::: <span>**Pyke**

Taran was the last, the last of the old man's children. The old prick had never considered him a son but now with his cough worsening and his body withering with each turning moon, he gave Taran"a great honour" and issued him a legitimate son. In the same breath he told Taran did not deserve it. Probably not but what man truly deserved a blessing? They'd all sinned sometime, even the men who pretended they were too honourable to shit. They were viler than the ones who did not hide their follies.

Had he known that becoming legitimate would be such a bitter experience, he would have kept his blade fastened at his side and out of his uncle's chests'. His half siblings had died long ago and he could not take credit for their deaths. He and his father went over maps and plans and preparations all day, every day. That would not be so horrible if the old bastard had kept his mouth shut about Taran's mother. He fucked her once and he somehow felt he had the right to talk about her as if he knew her.

Alia had raised Andrew out of a tavern. She had been a good woman, pale haired and plump in her hips and chest. She had been kind and always sought out the good in people, even though most often times there was none. She died when he was twelve, a drunken sailor bound for the Westeros coast tried to force Alia on her back and when she fought, he cut her deep on her side. Taran was thrown from the only home he'd ever known when he was unable to pay for the rooms anymore. There were little jobs he could get, in a war the smiths and carpenters and craftsmen could not afford to take on apprentices. The islands were running low on food as well, so for the next couple of years, Taran stole, he cheated and he beat down those who got in his way. He became a hardened street child, focused on survival and survival only.

For years he had not wanted anything to do with his father and his fool's mission. He ignored the tales of war sailors brought on the tides. He was fifteen when the war finally ended, but there were no songs sung in the streets when the ships docked. Hundreds of ships had left and only a dozen returned. His father was confined to his castle out of shame, a hundred servants at his disposal. He remained a lord, but he had wanted to be a king, to bring back the old ways of raping and pillaging.

Taran quickly grew to envy his father's family. They were shamed and disgraced and yet they still had luxuries and more respect than they deserved. He broke his knuckles and frightened Immy, a younger girl who had inadvertently become his friend, when he punched the hard rock wall of the Seasalt tavern as they ate their catch of fish. While he had to scavenge for food each night, sleep with the rats and pickpocket, the man that was his father and his family ate in their castle, laughing at and spitting on poor bastard boys like him. It was not a hard choice to make when Andrew decided to pour salt into his father's wounds. Immy fixed him with a sad look as he stalked toward the Pyke castle, knowing she'd never see him again and if she did, they'd not be friends.

His father knew right away whose son he was when he went to him at fifteen. Out of pride, the prick kept him around, giving him an old half rusted sword and setting him to work in the armoury. He practised for hours every day with that sword. There was not much work to be done with a crippled armada and wounded pride.

By the time he was eighteen Taran had buried his sword to the hilt in his father's brother's chests and left him without a successor. The first man was an accident. The brother who was said to be the calmest had turned into a drunk and a mean one at that. He stumbled into the armoury looking to call out abuse on him until Taran snapped and fought him. It hadn't ending like that. His drunken uncle looked so surprised when Andrew moved as quickly as he did and killed him. He threw the body out the window and into the sea, placing his uncle's sword nearby so everyone thought he'd killed himself. Something grew in Taran when he saw the distraught look on his father's face, not sympathy, but...something good. Pleasure, satisfaction or plain happiness...it made no matter. He killed the younger brother, the one all the others hated, a month later. Then, finally, the priest.

His purpose was to make the old man suffer, take away all that he loved, to murder all he had left. Taran was made legitimate by evenfall, much to his shock and anger. He was very tempted now, as his father raved hoarsely that Alia was a drunken whore, to castrate the old man and let him bleed to death. Thank whatever gods there were when he stopped talking about Alia moments later.

"You leave for their shores, in a—in a few months time." he rasped.

"Why not sooner?" Taran snapped impatiently.

"Stupid bastard," the old man tried to yell. "The southern Tar—Targaryen woman is losing her subjects to the North. If she starts a war and leashes her monsters on them while we..._think_ you dolt." His voice was small and throaty and he regularly carried a linen cloth around with him to wipe the blood that sprayed from his mouth when he coughed. Taran hoped it hurt him to die, he hoped he was afraid.

"So what if she does? We'll have her wrath to deal with as well as the north." Taran growled.

"The north is ours in all but name; we have just yet to claim it."

"A handful of lords means nothing to the overall power of the people north of the Neck. _No one_ will stand for a usurper, especially not one that has been banished to this miserable rock twice in twenty years." Taran responded. His father's idea was fragile, and it potentially put everyone in the region at risk _but_ his father. He would die, most likely, before Taran returned. Taran was the one that risked the most with his father's plan.

"They stood for Robert Baratheon and he was a drunk brute that whored without—" he was cut off by a vicious stream of coughing and brought the linen to his mouth. Taran wished the old prick would die, he wished he could slit his throat right here and now, but he couldn't. Legitimate or not, they fallowed his father more than him and if the old man was dead, they'd string Taran to a rock to drown when the tide came up and look for a new leader. He'd prove himself to the people that fallowed them; he'd make them see that he was a stronger and better leader than his father.

His name was no longer Taran Pyke, bastard of Alia the tavern wench. He was a lord now, and he'd accomplish what the old bastard had failed to do twice before.

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	5. The Godswood

**Thank you very much Total Targaryen for reviewing! Okee dokey, so if anyone has any suggestions, let me know. But, ya know, don't be rude about it :/**

Okay, my dears, it is 9/30/11 and I have revised this chapter. I pretty much jumped the gun toward the end and I was never really comfortable with it and-ahh! You don't wanna read my excuses!

**LONG STORY SHORT:: I have revised this chapter into something I think is more believable. **

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><p><span>Chapter 4::: <span>**Winterfell**

Adriena smiled at Olanna's witty joke the current Lady Mormont's bear lovers. The other women in their group laughed with Olanna, the taboo of such things so freely spoken making them blush. Olanna had always been a free speaker. Sansa, after a moment of shock, laughed with all the grace a lady of nobility possessed; Luna gave a shy titter, her cheeks flaring and Maerion giggled with a snort at the end. Adriena did not laugh, her mind was elsewhere.

Lord Frey was to die today, her husband wielding the sword as her son watched on. That was weighed on her most. Ed was a child, _her child_, only six. Just a little boy. But he was also a prince and a Stark...there were things that needed to be done and that Ed needed to see.

The feelings as a mother and a queen clashed against one another, understanding battling against worry and sadness. Her son was growing up and one day, it would be Ed in Robb's place. Would he adopt the Hoff custom of voting who would bring down the sword, or would he carry it out himself and find his peace in the godswood like his father? More likely the latter but Adriena never found any harm in hoping.

"The executioner" her uncle Vatim had said, "carries the last moments of the executed with them forever. It haunts you, the eviler the man, the longer the ghost stays with you." _One_ man carrying out his own judgement was a heavy burden to bear.

_Oh, my poor Robb_, Adriena thought sadly as she watched him and their son go off that morning.

Executions were almost monthly now. Mostly spies that had no tongues to betray their senders. If they could read and write, no one knew. Robb often offered clemency, in exchange for a lifetime of servitude to the Wall, but _always_, for some reason, the spies would lash out. One, who'd gotten hold of a knife, even stabbed Bryden Kilner before killing himself. Presently, a handful of those tongueless spies resided in the dungeons at Winterfell; hopefully, soon, they'd come to their senses and speak of what they knew.

"And then the old crone asks '_Where is my honeycomb_?'" Olanna recited jovially, her voice dripping with laughter. The other women all laughed, but Adriena was lost as to what they were laughing at. Still, she managed a smile to mask the fact she'd not been paying attention.

A screeching giggle drew her attention to the hearth.

The warm fire burned to Adriena's left and before the hearth, on a fur rug, Annie sat and played with her doll innocently, her pudgy hands gripping the soft, dark fur. Beside her, Luna's eldest daughter Catelyn, named in honour of Lady Stark, giggled as she made her doll walk to Annie's. Annie's auburn curls shone in the light, the red in her hair more prominent. Adriena's gloomy thoughts subsided for a moment as she watched her, her little girl so innocent of the world.

The arched ceiling above them flickered with the light of the fire. The shutters of the windows were closed as per usual, keeping the light and cold air out and the warm air in. It was mesmerizing to watch the shadows dance across the walls, the carvings seeming to writhe with each flicker. The walls were adorned with the likeness of the old kings of winter, painted with the gloomy colours of the north. Half of them Adriena could not name, but when she first saw them, five and a half years before, they'd been a spectacle of mystery and elegance. Who were these men that had dire wolves at their sides and crowns like Robb's on their heads? Now as she looked at them, she did not feel the same wonder as she had before. The personal deeds of kings long dead did not concern her now.

A soft hand suddenly lay on her arm and Luna, in her ever gentle voice, asked, "Are you alright, milady?"

Adriena looked down at her tiny hand, fleetingly thinking about what Old Helsa would say about Luna's hands, so small and soft and perfect. She would say that Luna's hands were the hands of a useless woman. Hands like that were not meant for work or caring for a child, only to look pretty and be admired. Old Helsa had a crude and free way of speaking, and often Adriena's sisters, Gwyn and Lydia, would run to her crying over what the old woman had said to upset them. _No wonder no one wants her_, Adriena thought bitterly once, _she's so bitter it's made her old and ugly. _

Adriena simply smiled kindly at her friend and said "I'm fine, just a bit distracted."

Luna smiled and turned away, taking a small sip of wine as she listened to Olanna prattle on about something or other.

Luna and Olanna had been from Hoff and both stayed in Winterfell with Adriena after things had settled down over the realm. Luna had been Adriena's friend since childhood, their cottages just on the other side of the river to each other. Then she had been known as Luna of Blackwater Creek but now she was known as Luna Glover, wife of the Lord Robett Glover's son and heir, Gawen.

Olanna, however, had never been all that close to Adriena. She had stayed in Winterfell to escape the "dull and simple" existence in Hoff. Adriena had a feeling that her betrothal to a man twice her age had played some part in her choice. Olanna was not married and it was well talked about that she had taken more than a few lovers into her bed... and in the stables, in the godswood and the kitchens. Adriena felt sorry for the girl. Olanna did not simply understand what snakes the women at court could be. They talked so sweet to your face but dragged your name through the mud as you turned your back. Adriena herself had had her fair share of slanderous rumours.

Not wanting to seem rude and put a damper on their visit, Adriena paid more attention to Olanna's jokes and found herself chuckling genuinely. Olanna may not have had much subtlety, but her jokes were always funny.

Only an hour later, when the wine and cider were gone and the Annie was near asleep on the bear rug, Adriena picked up her dozing child and carried her back to their apartments, Grey Wind trailing ahead, his eyes ever watchful.

The rest of the day came and went without incident, Adriena remaining in her chambers with Annie as Grey Wind waited outside. Adriena jumped when she heard the deep blearing sound of the horn that signalled Robb's return.

Annie stayed in the chambers with Septa Deloris as Adriena sped down the cold stone steps to meet her son and husband. She knew how her son would be as Commander Mollen helped him climb down off his pony. Quiet, contemplative... Still, it would please her to see him, to know he was truly alright or going to be.

Still on his horse, Robb gave her a small grim smile, (which was more a quirk of the lips) when he spied her across the yard, standing on the stone steps leading into the castle. The bloody, rough spun wool sack strapped to his horses' side bobbed in time with the horses trot. A satisfied sensation flitted through her, knowing that that _monsters_ head was in it. After all that Lord Frey had done, this was _long_ overdue.

Robb passed the sack off to one of the guards to see it was disposed of properly, that being impaled on a spike and left near the bird's keep, for the ravens and crows to feast upon.

When his pony was led off to the stables, Ed walked over to his mother, his green eyes looking up at her with swirling emotions. Adriena gave him a loving smile, reaching down to rest her hand on his shoulder and running her thumb back and forth. One thing Adriena noticed about noble mothers: they did not shower much affection on their offspring in public places. Almost all matters of the heart were done behind closed doors, the good and the bad.

Still smiling encouragingly, she nodded to her son as she walked past him and let him run off into the castle.

Robb saw her approaching him, and his look made her stop. His eyes said all: he needed his solitude in the godswood. She nodded and he handed the reins of his horses bridle to a stable-hand and walked off in the direction of the godswood.

When first they married, she felt wounded when he looked at her like that, feeling as though she were dismissed. She understood now, but she would not let him feel as he did for a man that did not deserve it.

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><p>He rarely had an opportunity to come here now, to this sacred place where the gods looked out from the heart tree. He stole away from the castle a week before, when he sentenced Lord Frey, but only for a half hour. He was there less than an hour before Adriena's voice sounded from behind him.<p>

"You should not feel guilty." she said. Robb's head shot up, startled by her sudden presence. There she was on the other side of the spring, her hair down and her dress thick and warm. She wore a cloak collared with snow hare fur that trailed on the snowy forest floor as she walked. It was strange how she looked so much the same as when he met her, yet so different.

His people thought her common looking, and he supposed that the common folk thought it droll, a queen looking as they do. But to Robb, she was not "common looking", she was beautiful. Her dark hair curled elegantly down her back and was always soft and glossy when he ran his fingers through it. Her eyes were the shade of leaves in the summer, vibrant and green and her skin was pale as his with an odd freckle dotting her cheeks.

Their son had gotten most of her looks, the only thing that remained of Robb in his son, is the calm honourable nature that was steadily growing. While their son looked as she did, their daughter looked as he did. Auburn ringlets and deep river blue eyes and lips like his. Annie was like any three-year-old, but one day, she'd grow into a beautiful, proud lady and marry a powerful lord. That bitter feeling once again returned to him.

She came around to sit by him, the rock chilling her, feeling both worried and annoyed when he did not speak. Had she been wrong in fallowing him to the godswood?

The godswood and its customs was not something Adriena was familiar with. In Hoff, they worshiped Natalya, the earth mother and her husband, Govad, the sky father. Natalya gave life to everything, and Govad let it flourish, bringing light and rain and wind and choosing when to let it die. When she and Robb married, she left her gods behind and now did not pray to Natalya in the Deep Forest or Govad in the Sky Cave but...a tree.

Robb's gods were not so different from hers, they only didn't have names. Adriena remembered when she prayed to Natalya, how you offer her a flower to listen and plant a tree to thank her. Adriena had never considered herself a pious woman, but giving up her gods had been hard for her. Her brother looked at her with those dark, unreadable eyes and she immediately felt guilty.

Even now, she sometimes wondered if Natalya watched her with betrayed contempt and if Govad plotted at any moment to let her flourishing family die. Robb, always kind and sweet, offered to let her keep her gods, but Adriena refused, knowing if she did, her temple would be burned within a month and the hatred from the lords she now ruled would grow stronger.

"He was a terrible old man who slaughtered my people. He did not deserve your mercy." she continued. The words felt a little awkward and clumsy on her tongue.

There was a time, in the war after they first married, when they would speak freely with each other for hours on end. Most of this occurred in the night, when Robb's duties were done, but they were no less meaningful. For some reason, this gradually began to slip away, their talks were shorter and then, there were days when they did not speak about anything but their duties and the children. At night they shifted and slept, but did not talk for hours as they once had or hold one another or make love. Adriena loved Robb and she knew Robb loved her, but she found that she missed him, especially when they had once been so close.

Robb's hands were cold as they found hers, even though they had been covered by his leather gloves. True moments alone were difficult to find, especially one where neither of them was tired or too strained, but when they were found, Adriena found them sweeter than any fruit she'd ever tasted. By Robb's tone, this was not one of them. For a moment they sat in silence before Robb spoke.

"I know, but that is not what troubles me Rina." He paused a second. "One of Maester Kellor's ravens found us while we were out there." Adriena frowned. That was not like the Maester, he prided his ravens above all else, excluding his maester's chain. He would not send one to Robb who was only half a day's ride out. "It was from the Twins." Adriena stiffened, her eyes growing cold. "It seems that not all the knights that assisted in the attack were present that day."

"What?" Adriena asked, perplexed. Her hands slipped from his.

"Lord Frey sent knights to Arya's keep, and to take them back to the Twins. Arya and her husband are at the Twins and Ser Stevron has offered an exchange, Arya and her husband for Lord Frey." Adriena was shocked into silence, her mind freezing all thought as she contemplated Robb's words. Arya, held captive...an exchange?

"That is so _stupid_." Adriena spat out coldly as she finally contemplated what Robb had told her. Ser Stevron must be an idiot. She had never met him. "They murdered my people! How can they expect an exchange for the man who did that?" She cried as she stood from the snow covered rock, forgetting they were in a holy place that was meant to be silent. "That was my _home_!" He stood up as well.

"And she is my sister." Robb said his voice hard with anger not directed entirely at her. He should have sent for Arya the day the raven arrived from Hoff, reporting what had happened and who they believed it was.

It was obviously too late for an exchange and what did that mean for Arya and her husband now? She was in the Frey's hands, and the Frey's would not be happy to learn that their lord had met his end by way of _Frost_, the new execution sword of the Starks.

But, her husband was a Frey. And Lord Walder had always been cold and nasty to his children and it was rumoured that Stevron was only too eager for his father to die. Yet as much as the Frey's were cowardly and shifty to even their own family, they were proud and did not like to be cheated or shamed. That being said, they would either let Arya go and beg a thousand pardons from Robb, or they'd keep her and threaten war.

A war against the Frey's would be quick but the wound of it would spread over the North. The other lords would become uneasy; some might even rebel calling Robb a butcher or Lord Killer. A peaceful solution would be best but Robb did not see a way for that, and if there was, Lord Stevron would never fully trust nor fallow Robb again.

Adriena's eyes widened as she contemplated his words. _Would he let that bastard _go? "You would let him go? After all he's done to us!" Adriena cried as her anger rose.

"No! I wouldn't let him go. Anyway, it doesn't matter now. Lord Frey is dead and gone..." she could hear the unspoken fear in his voice, wondering if Arya would be next on death's list. Husband and wife were far from each other. Adriena, in her irritation, had unknowingly put the pond between them.

They were silent a moment, Adriena's anger simmering down when she remembered Lord Frey's bloody head bag. Robb was right; Lord Frey was gone, his head rotting on a spike as they spoke. The thought of her villages' murderer being dead gave her a type of comfort, but all this new information overshadowed any joy she may had felt.

Adriena watched him, her eyes softening. _How stupid_ she had been, getting so upset over something that could _never_ be done now. Robb could never trade Walder Frey for Arya, and she felt guilty for feeling so relieved about it. Arya was her sister by law; she should want to rescue her, whatever the price was. Even if the idea of giving up the man that hurt her family and home so much made her want to scream.

What could she say that would bring him comfort? Robb usually found absolution in the godswood but she had trampled his tranquility with her anger and probably put him off praying for the rest of the day. Adriena's ears and neck burned with embarrassment and shame. She was his wife, meant to ease his burdens. Not add to them.

He wanted his sister back and safe, that was all.

Slowly, her legs carried her before Robb. Worry and fear prickled at her for Arya, but her heart ached for her husband. He was five and twenty, but half the time he carried the world on his shoulders.

"Robb," she whispered, her hands reaching up of their own accord to rest on the sides of his head. She lifted his head up and looked into his eyes. "You'll get them back. If you can win me and you're sister back from the Lannister's, the Frey's will be like stealing eggs from Green Singers." Many times, Adriena mentioned something from Hoff that Robb did not fully understand, but he was fairly sure 'Green Singers' meant a type of bird. He smiled a little at her comfort, resting his hands on her amble waist. Adriena smiled back.

Their fear was not forgotten, but for the moment until Edmure Tully's squire came to fetch the king a few moments later, they pretended all was right.

Then it was back to reality.

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><p>That night, Adriena slept by his side, her body facing him and curled up beneath the covers. Her hair was fanned out on the pillows she slept on, inky black in the dark although her hair was brown.<p>

After their argument in the godswood, they proceeded to walk back to Winterfell, her hand in his. Part of him was still annoyed by her outburst, but the bigger part of him still agonized over Arya and what would happen now. Adriena's hand was warm and grounding. They parted when they reached the Councils Chambers, Adriena going to see to their children and Robb to deal with the council.

Edmure Tully, the king's hand and Robb's uncle, told him of what the watchtower hands had reported to him. Over the last few years, watchtowers had been built along the Kingsroad and near every northern holdfast, a precaution in their defence. The tower near Winterfell on the Kingsroad had sent a raven reporting a reasonably small band of wagons and men on horseback approaching Winterfell, black shadow cat banners on green fields flying in the wind. The banner of Adriena's family. They were not far, only two days ride at the most.

Looking down at his sleeping wife, he could not find it in him to tell her now. Not only because she was asleep but also because it would weigh heavy on her if he did. Adriena had not seen her family since Annie was born, three years past and she did not complain on the fact.

Sighing, Robb scooted down from the headboard and lay on his back. He would have to tell her soon, it would be cruel to have her so unprepared and surprised at her family's sudden appearance. Once again looking at Adriena's sweet, relaxed face, he resolved he would tell her in the morning.

He did not know, hours before, when Adriena was awake, she decided the same thing, but on a _very_ different matter.

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><p><strong>Soooo...good, bad, ugly, Cersei's soul ugly? lol<strong>


	6. Qohor

K okay, my mom was cranky today so I began to write, and this happened.

Just for your info: Tija's name is pronounced Tia. Tija is about twelve years old, and God, it made me want to cry when I wrote what I did for her, but, behind the scenes in my head, she's an actress living the high life in Pentos with 100 servants and a tiger that protects her from evil hags**. ****. **

**AUTHORS NOTE Okay, okay, just so you know, Tija, DOES NOT have any real part in the story, she is just a literary tool to convey Viserys' desperatism and the hags' uncaring, apathetic nature toward who or what they eat. I also didn't want to just introduce Viserys up front, I mean where's the fun in that? **

**But if you don't want to read about Tija, skip down to like, the 12th paragraph from the bottom. **

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><p><span>Chapter 5::: <span>**Qohor**

She was hurting, inside and out. Her mother had come home angry again, raving how her disobedient wretch of a daughter had caused her nothing but trouble since the day she was born. She screamed at the girl, too young to have been visited by the monthly blood, that she wished she were dead. Even after hearing this a hundred times over, hurt beat against her chest at her mother's words. She did not know what had happened that provoked her mother's rage, but it did not matter. Tija still went to sleep with bruises and whip marks on her back and tears streaming down her cheeks.

Their farm was a small one, just on the outskirts of what was left of Qohor. The other people in the area called her mother a madwoman, but Tija didn't believe them. She was her daughter and Tija would know if her mother was insane. Her father was long gone, her mother scared him off when she took a hatchet to his leg but he did not have enough kindness left in him to take his only child. Tija was left with her mother, her scars doubling each year under her care and the fire of life that blazed in every young person's heart was slowly beginning to die.

The night was creeping into the city, darkness chilling and covering. Tija's mother had gone off to do whatever she did and left the young girl alone once again. Tija sat outside of the cottage, looking out into the thick woodland. That was where her father had walked into when he left. That was the last place she'd seen him.

"_Tija..." _

Her head snapped up at the sound, the whisper. She nervously glanced around, but found no one that would have called her name, only their goats and the old black cat with only one eye. Her shoulder's relaxed and she rested her chin on her knees. _Just the leaves playing tricks with the wind,_ she thought.

"Tija..."

She flinched and her eyes widened. That was not a whisper and it was not a windy trick. It was a woman, her voice sweet and kind and soft, far away from her. It took Tija a long moment to realize whose voice that was: her mothers. She was not used to hearing it so soft and without contempt.

"M-mama?" her voice was scratchy to her ears.

"Tija, come here." said her mother's voice. It was not the angry tone that meant a licking, it was soft and loving, not a tone that she was used to hearing from her mother. But she still feared what it would mean if she disobeyed.

Tija stood on her sore legs. "W-w-where are you?" she called weakly.

"In here, my dear." Tija's back stiffed at the endearment. The voice was coming from the forest, she was sure, by the light glowing a ways inside.

Her mother never called her anything but '_girl' _or_ 'Tija!'_ on a good day. That wasn't her mother...but it had to be, right? It was her voice, strange with tenderness as it might be.

Slowly, Tija slid one foot forward on the dry grass, feeling unease tug at her stomach. She jumped when she heard her mother call, "_Tija_, don't keep mama waiting." there was a silent warning in the statement that made Tija's feet rush forward into the forest.

The burning sun's warmth did not reach here within the dense thicket, so it was considerably colder than it was where the sun's rays had been. The small twigs and shrubs cracked and crunched beneath the soles of her bare feet, and the tickle of fear crept up her back.

"_Tija..." _her mother whispered to her left. Tia turned left. _"Tija..."_ she whispered again somewhere further ahead. Tija fallowed the sweet and calm voice of her mother.

Her mind whirled with questions. Was her mother angry with her again? Would her punishment be cruller than the rest why she led her out here? Or was she happy? Was she really and truly happy? Had papa returned to them why she sounded so sweet and loving? Hope, foreign and beautiful grew inside her and her feet began to speed toward where her mother was calling.

Somehow, her mother eluded her, try as she might to find her. Tija twisted her way through the trees, distress beginning to creep in.

"_Tija Tjia Tija Tija Tija Tija Tija Tija Tija..." _her whispering voice chanted relentlessly. Tija's feet ran, trying desperately to capture her mother, but never finding her where she thought she was before she called her to another direction.

"_Tija Tija Tija Tija Tija Tija Tija..."_ her voice thundered in her ears although she still whispered. Tija ran faster, desperate to find the kind talking woman that sounded like her mother. Tija ran and ran, mother's echoing louder, when suddenly, she broke through the trees and fell into a clearing.

Her aching, bruised body began to scream in protest as she laid there. Her feet were dirty, cracked and bleeding and all her body wanted was for her to fall asleep until it no longer throbbed the way it did. But her foggy mind refused, needing to know what was going on.

Panting, she began to push herself up, noticing little scratches from bush thorns on her bare arms. Finally standing straight on her bleeding feet, Tija walked forward a little, whimpering in pain before stopping and gingerly sitting on the cold grassy floor.

The silence was deafening. Tears prickled her eyes as she listened intently, desperate for her mother's voice to call to her, or better yet, for her to come to her so she didn't have to run any more. Had it all just been an illusion? Had her mother really been calling her or had she just imagined it? Was she asleep? No, the pain was too real for it to be a dream. When you sleep you don't hurt.

She wanted it to be real, for her mother to sound like she didn't _want_ to take the long thin whipping stick to her legs or back or hands. She wanted her to sound like she had when calling to her, kind and happy. Maybe it all was just pretend. Maybe her fantasies of such a mother had taken a life of its own.

The thought made her cry.

As she wept, lamenting and pleading for her father or the kind mother she wished she had, the moon raised high in the sky, making the eyes watching her shine.

"M-mama," she sniffed. "Where are you?"

"Here, my sweet." Tija's head snapped up, her face beaming when she spied her mother. She was _smiling_, not scowling as she usually did when looking at her daughter. Her dark eyes shone with an emotion that Tija had not seen in such a very long time and suddenly, her pain filled body was forgotten as she ran to her.

As she wound her arms tightly around her mother's waist, resting her head low on her bosom, she prayed to the Black Goat her mother would stay this way forever. The woman's move was so swift she felt no pain, no fear, no surprise. Tija only felt the warmth and comfort of her mother as she passed into the next life.

Viserys watched with a grimace of disgust as the three hags devoured the corpse eagerly. He had seen them eat Illyrio so greedily that the only shock and disgust that came from this kill was the fact that the girl had been so young and they made her death so painless whereas Illyrio had not been lucky.

As if reading his mind, the beautiful hag looked up, her copper skin dark with blood. "She was an innocent child, not even flowered and sweet at heart. She did not deserve pain. She is with her goat god now." she then went back to her meal. Viseys empty stomach churned as he spied the hand of the girl, so small and pale. She was a child, but her life had been pointless and hallow before. Her sacrifice for his army and crown made her life meaningful.

"Your servant was loyal, but he was a very wicked man." said the armoured hag. As usual, the ugliest of them kept silent. The three of them were very different, but each had as much power as the one before her, and he needed all three.

The beautiful hag was every bit as he title suggested. She looked Dothraki, dark inky hair braided down her back, her cheek bones high, her lips full and red, her skin was smooth and without a blemish. She was shorter than he, her hips flaring delightfully and her breasts full and succulent. If Viserys wasn't so disgusted by her and her 'sisters', he would have taken her the day her looks returned to her.

The armoured hag was plain and masculine looking, her face square and her body muscled more than a woman's should be. She was scarred and her nose appeared to have been broken several times and her hands were large and her fingers were crooked. Despite her appearance, he needed her the most.

The ugliest of them, she had stayed the same after eating Illyrio, while the other two changed; the first becoming beautiful the other becoming fuller. Not her. She stayed a rotted corpse.

"So is that offer enough? Will you lead me to the sword now?" Viserys demanded impatiently. How humiliating, asking permission from the three hags of the deep Essos desert. The thought made his fists clench in fury. He was a _king_, the _rightful king!_ Soon as he got his army and crown, he'd... well, he couldn't kill them, he'd die too...he _needed_ them. More rage bubbled up from his gut.

The beautiful hag lifted her head, daintily whipping her blood smeared mouth on the back of her new robes. She cleared her throat. "Well, my love," she said. She always called him some sort of pet name, and though he was repulsed by what she did, on a beautiful woman's lips it was not so revolting. "This will buy you," she thought a second. "Five soldiers, but they will be weak. This sweet little girl was small and too young, not even a woman. Her body was wounded and fickle." she said this with a sickly sweet voice as she looked down to the girl's pale dead face, brushing her light hair back from her brow.

"But you told me, I'd have my army, when I brought you a sacrifice!" Viserys screamed, his rage bubbling forth. The armoured woman sat up, coming to the offended looking hag's aid.

"You heard what you wanted to hear, Dragon King." she grumbled out. Her voice was like hearing a pubescent boy talking, feminine, but also very male. "Be thankful we came at all to this place." she wrinkled her crooked nose in disgust as she looked around.

"My sweet you need a bigger offer to get Odo's sword." said the beautiful hag. A wicked smile came to her face. The ugliest of them came up from the dead flesh, looking satisfied. She and the other two stood, and when she snapped her too bony fingers, the body sparked and was ablaze with flames. The beautiful hag came before him, her steps so graceful she seemed to slither on her feet.

"Perhaps, my sweetest, most gracious and noble king," she cooed as she leaned her body against his. "Perhaps, you will get us...dragon's blood? The blood of _one_ dragon, will lead you to Odo's sword and his army would take you home to your throne."

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><p>sooooo... click the button...do it!...c'mon!... please?...okay, I'm outta here *walks away frustraited*<p> 


	7. The Dreams of Dragons

**School's been kicking my butt and I couldn't get this done as soon as I had hoped. **

I know my time with Dany has been bedroom centered, but this type of POV will end soon enough. I would have changed this chapter, so I could show you a day in Dany's life, but I wanted this to be RIGHT after Viserys' chapter. So, read onward and remember the Dany/bedroom chapters will stop soon...unless I get brave.

**ALSO**:::: I own nothing

**Thank you very much Total Targaryen and Lori for reviewing! You guys are awesome ;)**

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><p><span>Chapter 6::: <span>**The Dragon's Nightmare**

Dany awoke with a gasp, her body lurching so suddenly to sit erect that it made the blood rush and pound in her ears. The silken sheets tangled around her legs, a fine dew of perspiration gathered over her brow. Inside her chest, her heart beat frantically like a caged bird frightened by a predator and she breathed in greedily for breath.

A strange sensation welled in her belly, gripping her heart and sobering her to the point where sleep would be impossible for the rest of the night. This was a feeling she had not felt since...since... since her brother lived and ruled over her life like the king he would never be. Her stomach churned, heavy as lead and she felt sobs welling in her throat.

She did not dream of Viserys often, the trials of the day leaving her too drained to dream. But on the odd night she did, she awoke feeling like a child again, cowering when he brother raised a hand to her. She leant forward and rested her hands on her sweaty brow, her long, glossy silver hair falling around her face like a waterfall of quicksilver.

She despised feeling like this but she could not find it in her to feel angry on the fact. The dream was still too vivid in her mind, Viserys' bitter words ringing in her ears and the skin where the apparition griped her in anger burned and not in the comforting way.

For a long time she sat, her head in her hands, telling herself it was all a dream, it meant nothing and could not harm her. Ever so slowly, the lump in her throat receded and her heart slowed but the dream kept in her memory like a scar.

Viserys would never be forgotten, she realized. He was her brother, weak and brash and half mad, but her brother still and she'd loved him once upon a time when he was opposite to how he'd been at the end. Viserys had been born proud and arrogant, and when he had to scavenge and pawn their possessions to keep her fed, it must have soured his love for her.

She shuttered at the memory of the dream. Viserys had been in the castle, seated on the Iron Throne, his head still seared with molten gold from where her sun-and-stars had "crowned" him. She had been below him, bloody and bruised, seated on the last step of the dais while two of her three dragons screeched in anger behind Viserys. She felt wetness hit her arm and only then realized she was crying. A single sob broke from her then, loud and fearful and bringing more tears. She wept more for her dragons than for herself, the feeling of dread and miserable grief attacking her as fiercely as it had when she was asleep. Why did she see two and not the third? Dany knew the answer but dared not speak it.

From far off, she heard a loud screech, followed by two others that chorused together in harmony. Her dragons, awaken by her dreams from deep in the castle. Her tears stopped as she listened to their comforting lullaby. There were times that Dany missed their small, hatchling size. When they were new, they would crawl up beside her, twining their long, thin tails with her arms or legs and nipping playfully at her fingers or hair. More than once Dany awoke with burning sheets but it did not matter to her in the end. She never dreamt anything but good dreams with them close.

A desperate longing burst forth from her heart, her fingers itching for the feel of hot scales beneath them, her nose needing the smell of brimstone and ash and smoke. The desire to see them and touch them and have them with her again was overpowering.

As the sun gazed over the horizon, the garish light waking the animals and the people still residing in King's Landing, Jorah Mormont cautiously crept down the stone steps to the dungeons, listening to the dragons' sleeping growls. The Queen was not in her chamber, her handmaids wept in fear. Jorah did not blink an eye, knowing where his wayward queen would be if she were not abed.

When he turned the corner, his aging eyes caught sight of three, great and terrifying beasts, and the small and beautiful queen sleeping soundly under their wings, her hand resting on the golden and cream coloured beasts' sharp talon.

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><p>Yes yes I know short chapter, but I think I got my point across.<p>

**{{{{Review}}}}** because it feeds the hampster in the wheel in my head!


	8. AUTHORS NOTE

**A/N**

Alright, I think I'm gonna put this story on pause.

Long story short, I'm gonna put this story on hold, **so I can publish** and finish the prologue story of "Queen of the Savages", **where the story really began**, when the Lannisters were pompass incest-y lions, the Starks were mourning and Dany was dreaming. I AM NOT abandoning this story NOR am I deleting it, I'm just going to focus on it's mother, and I'll come back when I'm done the first.

I am sorry to anyone who liked this story, but hopefully the prologue will sufice, and be up and running soon! Thank you to all who reviewed and favorited or alerted. You guys rock!

**-Roweena ;)**


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